We were finally packed up and on the road to the big city, where Dad could find more work. After spending years out on the isolated reservation, we needed a change; the five of us, and four dogs were really ready for a bigger house. Although we didn’t even have any neighbors, and were surrounded by desert, we felt like sardines. We didn’t have much money, and our small 750 ft house was just not going to work anymore. Luckily, because we were so broke, we didn’t have too much to load up before the trip. The downside, our old flatbed Chevy, hauling everything we owned, had seen better days. I honestly was scared it wouldn’t make it, but Dad reassured me it was fine.
Dad gave me a boost up into the truck, and I put on my lap belt shouting, “Let’s …show more content…
“Pop…pop…crack…boom!”, resonated through the canyons.
I looked at Dad, “Are you sure it’s going to make it Dad?”
“Hell, this old thing, of course! It’s a Chevy, built like a Sherman tank!” Dad kind of chuckled.
We made it across the old dried up riverbed, and onto the two-lane highway. I looked back out of the yellowing oval window, and could see Mom, the girls, and all the dogs in the new 85 Accord. She was so excited for the big trip in a fancy new car with air. Living out in the desert, she had adjusted to the heat, but was so relieved to have her new “luxury car”. I waved to her, and sat back down. It seemed like the trip wouldn’t be too bad after all.
About forty five miles into our trip, the heat coming off the engine, was really burning my legs through the floorboard heater vent. We had climbed in altitude about 2000 ft, and the old truck was really heating up. As the truck was almost at the top of Old Walker’s Pass, I looked over at the old needle, barely bouncing between 25 and 30 MPH. I didn’t say a word, but Dad could see I was worried. He down shifted, and threw it into low gear. The engine made a grind and a clunk, barely catching the correct …show more content…
Get back in the car, and turn on the air!” yelled Dad while motioning for me to come down the hill.
Upon reaching the bottom of the hill, I was excited for another adventure. These types of challenges were often a part of our daily lives. It was always at the most crucial moment, when some pivotal item would fail, break (again), or go missing. I was no stranger to good, old-fashioned “Hill-Folk ingenuity” as my Dad always called it. He leaned in handing me a trash bag, “Go around and find all the soda pop, beer, and tin cans you can find around here. While you’re at it, watch out for snakes!” I took off like a jackrabbit, excited to help him.
I could see him from the hill, rummaging through the back of our pile on the truck. Once I returned, he was pleased to see the collection of cans in the bag. From the seat of the truck, he pulled his wire cutters; hay bailing wire, and leather gloves. He handed me his knife, and had me cut the bottoms and tops off the cans, while he disappeared under the truck. “Hand me the cans.” I gave him the pile of now flat metal rectangles, and again he disappeared. It seemed like forever, I heard the squeaking, and scratching of wire. Finally, shouting out “Ok, check it out!” Dad
Dad gave me a boost up into the truck, and I put on my lap belt shouting, “Let’s …show more content…
“Pop…pop…crack…boom!”, resonated through the canyons.
I looked at Dad, “Are you sure it’s going to make it Dad?”
“Hell, this old thing, of course! It’s a Chevy, built like a Sherman tank!” Dad kind of chuckled.
We made it across the old dried up riverbed, and onto the two-lane highway. I looked back out of the yellowing oval window, and could see Mom, the girls, and all the dogs in the new 85 Accord. She was so excited for the big trip in a fancy new car with air. Living out in the desert, she had adjusted to the heat, but was so relieved to have her new “luxury car”. I waved to her, and sat back down. It seemed like the trip wouldn’t be too bad after all.
About forty five miles into our trip, the heat coming off the engine, was really burning my legs through the floorboard heater vent. We had climbed in altitude about 2000 ft, and the old truck was really heating up. As the truck was almost at the top of Old Walker’s Pass, I looked over at the old needle, barely bouncing between 25 and 30 MPH. I didn’t say a word, but Dad could see I was worried. He down shifted, and threw it into low gear. The engine made a grind and a clunk, barely catching the correct …show more content…
Get back in the car, and turn on the air!” yelled Dad while motioning for me to come down the hill.
Upon reaching the bottom of the hill, I was excited for another adventure. These types of challenges were often a part of our daily lives. It was always at the most crucial moment, when some pivotal item would fail, break (again), or go missing. I was no stranger to good, old-fashioned “Hill-Folk ingenuity” as my Dad always called it. He leaned in handing me a trash bag, “Go around and find all the soda pop, beer, and tin cans you can find around here. While you’re at it, watch out for snakes!” I took off like a jackrabbit, excited to help him.
I could see him from the hill, rummaging through the back of our pile on the truck. Once I returned, he was pleased to see the collection of cans in the bag. From the seat of the truck, he pulled his wire cutters; hay bailing wire, and leather gloves. He handed me his knife, and had me cut the bottoms and tops off the cans, while he disappeared under the truck. “Hand me the cans.” I gave him the pile of now flat metal rectangles, and again he disappeared. It seemed like forever, I heard the squeaking, and scratching of wire. Finally, shouting out “Ok, check it out!” Dad